


June 2016, Crema

by germanjj



Series: Buried Under Clear Glass (Finished Series) [1]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types
Genre: Charmie, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Rating will likely be higher in later parts, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:02:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23064424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/germanjj/pseuds/germanjj
Summary: Sometimes love is so clear to see, visible for everyone around you, and yet you're not able to reach out and touch it, grab it, pull it towards you. It's like it's buried under clear glass.And sometimes, it all starts with Armie lying on the sofa, his head in Timmy's lap.
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Series: Buried Under Clear Glass (Finished Series) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1657570
Comments: 12
Kudos: 105





	June 2016, Crema

**Author's Note:**

> I've been doctoring so much on this series, that I decided to just start posting and watch where those two lead me. It will follow them through the last few years.  
> \---  
> Disclaimer: this is not beta'd, English is not my first language / if you don't like RPS, please don't read / I don't know any of these people, I'm simply borrowing their public personas to play

Dinner at Luca’s home had immediately become tradition. On the first day, he had invited everyone from the crew to the cast, treating us to a wonderful home-cooked dinner and then, for anyone who decided to stick around, a movie, one of Luca’s or one of his favorites, always pointing out a particularly beautiful shot or a powerful scene. And that first day had evolved into every other day to almost every day quite quickly.

Timmy and I often attended both. Rarely passing on that excellent food, and then it was an easy transition to the cozy living room, not dissimilar to the Perlman’s with books and memorabilia everywhere without it looking overwhelmingly cluttered but instead like a well-loved and well-lived-in home. 

A few weeks in, I find myself next to Timmy on the sofa, tired after too much pasta and too little sleep the night before, and I have somehow ended up lying down, taking up half the couch, my head on Timmy’s lap, eyes closed. A movie is playing I have already forgotten the title of, but none of the after-dinner guests are seemingly paying attention. Luca’s partner is in town, and with him, our camera operator, first AD, and Esther have joined us, sharing all kinds of stories from past projects to exciting vacation spots to childhood memories. 

I’m not asleep, instead dozing on the verge of it, enjoying the stream of conversation, pleasant and consistent, washing over me.

It had started as a joke, as these things often do. I had claimed the sofa all for myself, declared myself too tired to do anything at all because of the fantastic meal we just had, and then Timmy had pushed and prodded me to move and make room for him. When I had refused, he had tickled me to prompt me to move just enough so he could slip underneath and smugly declared victory when he conquered a spot by one end of it. I had shrugged to show him how undeterred I was and promptly flopped back down, my head in Timmy’s lap. He had laughed and pushed, but lacking any vigor, any effort. The rest of the dinner guests had shifted their focus away from our antics, and soon enough, neither of us seemed uncomfortable with the position we had found ourselves in.

Timmy’s hand had ended up at the nape of my neck at some point. 

Running his fingers through the strands of my hair, he keeps ruffling gently, talking in a low voice with the others, and I’m convinced he isn’t even aware of doing it. 

There’s a gentle sense of warmth in Timmy’s touch, in the softness of his thigh against my cheek. From time to time he will laugh, and his hand will disappear while he, I am sure, gestures with his delicate hands underlying a story he is telling, but his fingers always find their way back to my hair, playing with the light curls in the back.

I don’t move, don’t even contemplate sitting up once the fatigue after the meal has ebbed away, and I would have been awake enough to join the conversation. Having the curious urge to purr like a cat being petted, I want to stretch out the moment of innocent intimacy for as long as I can. 

It feels good. The word is inadequate for the hum atop my skin, where Timmy’s touch lingers. For the warmth and scent of him, both surrounding me until I forget what the world smells like away from him. Until I’m not eager to find out. I’m lulled in by his quiet calm, something I so rarely see in this restless boy and which, I realize, is another side of him I hadn’t expected upon meeting him but which he also shares as freely and as openly with the world around him. 

My eyes flutter open briefly at one point, following a gentle rub of Timmy’s fingers down the base of my neck, and I find Luca watching me, a calculating look across his features. 

Something uneasy comes with that look. Stirring uneasiness in myself as if I’m caught doing what I’m not supposed to. Or exactly what I’m supposed to but was expected to be fighting harder for a lot longer. 

Timmy and I have grown very close in a short amount of time. Physically close as well. There are moments when I stop myself to wonder about that, but those moments have become less and less frequent although they linger at the back of my mind, buried.

I decide to ignore Luca and his look and with it the traces of guilt flaring up that I can’t even name yet and let my eyes fall closed again, shutting out the room and the world and shifting all focus back to where my head lies in Timmy’s lap, on where I can hear his exhale faintly against my ear, and on where, in a never-ending rhythm, his fingers run gently through my hair.


End file.
